The Man and the Memory
by KLMeri
Summary: Sequel to The Boy and the Sea Dragon. McCoy wakes up and finds that his world has been turned upside down. - COMPLETE
1. Prologue

**Title**: The Man and the Memory

**Author**: klmeri

**Fandom**: Star Trek AOS

**Characters**: Kirk, Spock, McCoy

**Summary**: Sequel to The Boy and the Sea Dragon. McCoy wakes up and finds that his world has been turned upside down.

**A/N**: Surprised myself with this.

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* * *

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Prologue

Who knows how it begins? There is a flash of something cruel, dark and fathomless, a frantic cry in the background and then nothing more. When you wake up, you don't remember anything at all—not even your name. Perhaps that is the most disconcerting.

What is your name?

There is a sensation that seems familiar.

Pain.

Then a voice, full of an emotion you want to call relief, says, "Welcome back, Doctor McCoy." The voice belongs to a face you think you should know, her name on the tip of your tongue.

There are tears in her eyes when she looks at you. Then the woman—nurse, the word comes out of nowhere—turns away and calls, "Page Dr. M'Benga!"

Later, they tell you who you are and why you feel as though you've been pieced back together. There wasn't simply an accident—it was a deliberate attempt to hurt you, kill you.

Dr. M'Benga assures you that the memory loss is temporary. Another person, someone with dark eyes (why do dark eyes make you uncomfortable?) and a silence wrapped about him, watches over you too.

His name is Spock and he is your friend. At least, you think he is your friend. Perhaps not? You won't know until you remember.

There is one person you can almost recognize. His name is Jim and he is the captain of the starship. (Why would you be on a starship? Your stomach makes a flopping sensation at being in space. Too many questions—it feels like you are drowning in them.) He smiles and talks and talks like there isn't a care in the world. He calls you "McCoy" and that seems almost right but it makes the other—the strange one called Spock—glance sideways at the vibrant, blue-eyed man.

Maybe it's the color of his eyes that comforts you. They are too light for guile.

Jim (Kirk? Captain? How do you address him?) pats your hand and says, "Welcome back, McCoy. We are pleased that you have returned to us." He grins up at the looming Vulcan then. "Spock, we will leave orbit in three days' time."

"Captain," There is a pause, an almost hesitation in that smooth voice, "we have not completed—"

You feel startled when those blue eyes darken like a storm. "That was an order, Mr. Spock, not a request," snaps a hard voice.

The silence is tense until the Vulcan finally replies, "Very well, Sir."

It's then that you do desire to speak, to say "That's it, Spock?" incredulously, but you stop yourself for the simple reason that though the frustrated sentiment does not seem strange to voice, you are still uncertain of your circumstances.

Spock nods once to you with "May your recovery be swift, Doctor." Then he exits, back stiff in a way that you do, quite inexplicably, find familiar.

Jim Kirk lingers a moment before following, the authority in his stride plain for all to see.

It is Nurse Chapel—a sweet woman you decide that you must like—who takes far too long to rearrange items on a nearby tray.

Finding your voice, you ask, "What's the matter, Chris?"

The nickname takes you both by surprise and it also gives you a moment to hope your identity is not entirely lost.

Her smile trembles before dropping away. "I'm not sure, Len. The Captain—" She shakes her head, clearly deciding against troubling an amnesiac man with more worries. "Thank you," she says softly instead.

"For what?" Aren't you the one who should be thankful that these people never gave up on you?

"For coming back" is the whisper. Christine's hand brushes at your wrist. You cannot understand what she is trying to tell you.

You answer slowly, "I'm not sure that I had a choice."

Her look is indecipherable. "Maybe you knew that they—we needed you."

You catch the slip but say nothing. When the woman tells you to rest, you think that is a wonderful idea. Sleep, perhaps, will buy the time necessary to figure out what the Hell is going on.

However, there is one thing in which you are certain. This Enterprise, this unknown place you've woken up to, is somewhere you must want to be—somewhere you are wanted. But no matter why you feel that way, the truth remains: it is right but also _wrong_.

You fall into a restless sleep of cold, pitch-black eyes and a lonely voice that begs _Bones_.


	2. Part One

**Part One**

McCoy finds that he can cope rather well with being clueless. His memory is not completely shot; it is, simply, taking its sweet time to put all the puzzle pieces of his life back together.

There are some things which are not forgotten: likes and dislikes (he likes sleeping on his stomach; he dislikes the thought of floating in the vacuum of space); the taste of good bourbon (there was bottle in the drawer of a desk that is supposedly his, as Chief Medical Officer); and the weight of a tricorder in his hand. Luckily, with the latter comes the medical knowledge that he has apparently spent many, many years cultivating. It is easy enough—and reassuring—to peer at a series of bio-readings and know exactly what the numbers mean, let his brain sift through conditions and treatments, and decide what needs to be done.

Unfortunately, almost everything else is at best vague recollection.

Including his own daughter.

Leonard stares at a holopic of a young blonde-haired girl with his face-shape and the most joyful eyes in the galaxy. He thinks, _This is my child_, and wonders at the tightening in his chest which has nothing to do with physical pain.

That night, McCoy dreams of her (Joanna, Jojo, sweetheart) and the scent of baby shampoo. Upon waking, he is comforted by a certainty that deep-down the memories of his little girl still exist. He hopes to regain them as quickly as possible.

Then, during a shift he has to idle through since he isn't allowed to do _anything_, McCoy walks in on a conversation between Dr. M'Benga and Mr. Spock. They immediately turn as one to stare at him.

Leonard blinks and places a hand against the wall. Why he does that he isn't sure; he only knows that it helps him feel steady. Deciding not to beat around the bush, McCoy wants to know, "What are y'all arguing about?"

Spock answers readily enough. "If by 'arguing' you indicate an intense disagreement, then I must protest the inference, Doctor McCoy."

Out of nowhere he quips, "Next you'll be telling me that arguing is illogical."

Spock parts his lips, as if Leonard has startled him, before saying to M'Benga, "Perhaps your point was valid."

The corner of M'Benga's mouth lifts. "Thank you. I do like to think my medical degree isn't just for show."

Leonard looks between the two. "So... you were _arguing_—" He cuts his eyes at Spock. "—about me."

"Len, Spock and I were discussing an alternative treatment for your memory loss."

With arms crossed he asks, "What kind of alternative? And why don't I like the sound of that word?"

M'Benga's expression is hesitant and that alone sends a chill down McCoy's spine. In that moment, he is very sure that he would rather not undergo whatever _treatment_ Spock has suggested. So his "No" is clear-cut and final.

The "Doctor..." from Spock is short but lingering, reminiscent of a plea. It strikes a chord in McCoy, somehow, and the knowledge that Leonard has done—or said—something in the past to upset Spock is suddenly irrefutable. But the man cannot work his tongue around a way to ask.

Instead, he steps back, letting his arms dangle, and shakes his head. "I'm going to be fine," he insists. "I keep remembering little things."

Why doesn't Spock seem convinced?

He tries harder. "Really, Spock. Why, just this morning, I—" He stops, flails mentally in the gaping emptiness of his memory banks for a significant revelation. Truth be told, he hasn't had one yet.

_Shit._

Why can't he remember!

And Spock won't let him get away, won't publicly defy his request to be left alone but will continue to break down Leonard's defenses little by little until the hobgoblin wins and...

He blurts out "Hobgoblin!"

A noise escapes M'Benga before the doctor can press his fist against his mouth to keep it in.

"You're a hobgoblin," clarifies McCoy with an instinctive smirk.

Spock does not even twitch, simply locks those long-fingered hands behind a rigidly postured back.

"It is improper to insult a fellow officer, Doctor McCoy."

_Oh._

He is about to apologize when Spock adds, "However, given the unfortunate, _deficient_ state of your mind, such transgression can be... forgiven." With those last words, the Vulcan takes his leave of the two humans.

He has the impression that Spock is pleased. Well, Leonard isn't! "Forgive and forget my ass! I'm not sorry!" he calls after the Vulcan.

M'Benga finally gives in to laughter and McCoy turns a baleful glare on him. The man manages to say through a bout of chuckling, "God, Len. Some things never change!"

* * *

Sleep is elusive. Tomorrow the Enterprise pulls out of orbit and McCoy isn't certain why he wants a last look at the planet below, but he does. The Observation Deck is deserted late into gamma shift. Leonard settles against the cold pane and sighs.

What was he expecting? That one glimpse would bring all his memories rushing back?

How foolish.

The planet looks harmless from a starship, yet a man named Leonard McCoy was almost killed there. He had been allowed to see his medical logs and had access to the official reports—except that no report has been transmitted to Starfleet. The Captain says there will be time enough to recount the terrible events they have endured.

Christine tells Leonard most of the bare essentials—there was a being (creature, she called it) that they had never encountered before which tried to take over the ship. It had kidnapped the Captain and the First Officer, impersonated them, and almost fatally hurt McCoy.

Why?

The one-word question pounds incessantly through his brain like a drum.

_Why?_

There is something which no one wants to tell him. He sees it in the shadows of Christine's face, hears it in the silence of Spock's presence (the Vulcan finds time to trail him _everywhere_), and feels that unknown tale in the back of his mind, waiting like a monster to break from the dark and devour him whole.

It must be the reason that McCoy cannot remember. It must be a terrifying truth.

"McCoy."

His thoughts scatter. McCoy brings a hand up to rub at his temple, unsure of a residual echo in his head.

"McCoy."

He turns, then, at the very _real_ sound and sees the Captain of the Enterprise standing inside the entrance to the deck. McCoy had not realized he wasn't alone.

"Captain."

The man smiles. "Jim, please. I am always Jim."

Then they must get along. McCoy steps to the side to make room for Jim at the window. "What brings you here?"

"I could ask the same of you."

Leonard shrugs. "Can't sleep tonight."

Kirk props a shoulder against the pane, seemingly oblivious to how terribly cold it is. Those eyes are intense in their perusal of McCoy. Jim talks, however, with nonchalance as if they were discussing a trivial matter. "You mustn't worry about remembering. Every man has trials he wishes to forget."

Trying to forget that time you walked in your parents in coital bliss is very different than having your brain drop all the pertinent facts of your life into oblivion.

He doesn't think it would be wise to argue with this James T. Kirk so he settles for switching the subject. "Is it really wise to leave orbit so soon, Jim?"

The man narrows his eyes. "We must."

"But if we don't know what happened to that _thing_—"

"It's gone," interrupts the Captain. "I won't continue to put my crew at risk."

Those words have a familiar ring. "Yeah, alright." He rubs absently at his wrist. "I guess I'm just worried. Whatever happened down there—" He gestures to the planet, a mass of swirling deep browns. "—is why I'm such a mess." He looks at the man watching him. "It feels like the only connection I have."

Jim is silent for so long that McCoy wonders if he might have overstepped himself by assuming that he could speak so personally to a superior officer. But then Kirk says, "I understand, McCoy. However, your troubles cannot alter what must be."

The Captain continues to watch him, a dismissal apparent in blue eyes like the Earth's sky. So McCoy goes, abandoning the Observation Deck with a sinking heart. Much to his surprise, he doesn't bumble through the corridors like a lost man. His feet—and instinct—carry McCoy down a path that must have been traveled a thousand times in the past. And leaning against the door buzzer does not seem so strange an act at all.

A voice, rapidly becoming familiar, answers with "Enter."

The door slides back and McCoy steps into sweltering heat. Spock (the Vulcan First Officer, the Hobgoblin) raises an eyebrow.

McCoy grumps easily, "Turn down the heat before I wilt."

Spock does and waits patiently, eyes still frighteningly dark.

He sighs. "What's this _alternative_ that I'm probably gonna curse you for afterwards?" He suspects that he has never been good at ice-breakers.

Spock tells him, "Please be seated, Doctor. There is much I must tell you."

_Well_, Leonard decides, _at least someone on this God-forsaken ship isn't as tight-lipped as a Cardassian ambassador hoarding war secrets._ Spock's mouth twitches and the man realizes that he literally spoke his mind.

McCoy mumbles and shifts in his seat.

There is a spark in Spock's eyes which eases frayed nerves. It inspires McCoy to say, without thinking, "I need help."

"I shall endeavor to assist you, Leonard" is the soft reply.

"Why?"

"I will require your help in return." Not a direct answer, but one that McCoy can accept. Perhaps Spock understands that any declaration of a relationship—friendship or otherwise—between them is without meaning to McCoy until he has memories to back it up.

Leonard nods. "What do you need?"

"We must find Jim."

"I don't think he's lost, Spock," McCoy replies with a measure of dry humor. "I talked to him not ten minutes ago."

"That," interrupts the Vulcan, "is _not_ Jim."

Leonard has no comeback and Spock isn't laughing at the joke.

After a moment of silence, he sucks in a deep breath and jumps in head-first. "I think you'd better start from the beginning."

When Spock is done, some hours later, a pale McCoy braces his head in his hands and says succinctly, "Fuck me."


	3. Part Two

**Part Two**

McCoy passed upset over an hour ago. "What do you expect me to do?"

"Doctor..."

"For Christ's sake, Spock, I don't—I—" McCoy presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. He makes a sound of frustration.

"Leonard, please calm yourself."

"Easy for you to say. We can't all be walking on Vulcan Cloud Nine."

Spock's eyebrows come down. "To assign a numeral to an atmospheric mass would be most illogical." Because Spock sounds like he is trying exceptionally hard to determine why _any_ sane being would attempt such a pointless feat, McCoy cannot help but laugh.

"Thanks," he breathes after a moment. At the questioning tilt of the Vulcan's head, he explains, "I needed the reminder that I can laugh." McCoy sighs. "Spock, you have to understand... I'm not sure that I _can_ help you. If Jim is, well, not Jim, I wouldn't know. _I don't remember him._"

The frustration builds again to bursting. McCoy tries pacing the length of Spock's room in order to speak with coherence.

"If what you say is true, then it's my fault!" He interrupts Spock's protest. "_It is._ If I hadn't gotten myself kidnapped, then none of this would have happened." He gestures pointedly at his head. "I'd still have my brains, the Captain wouldn't be a creature from God-knows-where, and we'd already have sailed safely out of the quadrant."

Spock stands, then, as well. "I request that you listen to my words—not merely hear them."

He bites at his lower lip and nods. "Okay. But I ain't promising to praise you afterward."

"You offer no more than I expect." Spock says this with a twinkle in his eyes. "First, I will address your guilt. It is a wasted emotion, Leonard, on that which you claim to hold responsibility."

He doesn't argue, but Leonard does momentarily drop his gaze from Spock's.

"The blame lies solely with the being who desires to cause strife and grief among us. It wielded our affections like a weapon—"

McCoy is startled at that blatant use of _affections_ from a Vulcan. Secretly, he thinks that he shouldn't be surprised, at least in Spock's case.

"—and struck Jim at his weakest point. Captain Kirk is man loyal to those aboard the Enterprise; he would not hesitate to sacrifice his life for another. In injuring you and preventing our release to the ship, it forced Jim to choose unwisely. This I have been able to piece together."

"He sounds like a good man," Leonard mumbles.

Spock answers simply, "Jim is the best of men."

An almost-shame coats the knowledge that McCoy could easily forget a person who would die for him, someone he must have a great deal of respect and feeling for.

_Bones_. The word comes to him unbidden. He tests the shape of it on his tongue.

McCoy looks up when Spock utters quietly, "A personal nickname, given to you by Jim."

His hand grasps the top of a chair for balance. "Jim... calls me Bones?"

"Yes."

"We must be close," he half-laughs, "if I allow that."

"I cannot speak on his behalf but, from my own observations, there is a bond between you, built and nurtured through years of acquaintance." Spock pauses as a man does when searching for the right words. "Jim thrives under your guidance as you trust in his faith."

McCoy swallows against the strange swelling of his throat. So, he and Jim are that good for each other, are they? He thinks that he wouldn't mind being so lucky.

The acceptance comes softly then. "I'll help you get Jim back. I promise."

Spock bows his head briefly before locking resolute (and not so unread-ably dark) eyes on Leonard.

"We must circumvent the Captain's orders. The chances of locating Jim grow less favorable the further we travel from the initial point of attack."

"I don't see what we can do, short of the ship losing an engine or two."

His thoughts rattle and persist for solidity as a child does taking its first steps, not at all sure what they _can_ do, so it is a surprise when Spock agrees. "Doctor, that suggestion is commendable."

"Huh?"

Spock is already five mental bounds ahead of Leonard, no doubt concocting a devious plan in that pointy-eared head of his. McCoy goggles a minute at the realization of what Spock is implying.

"Spock!"

"Yes, Doctor McCoy?" is the rather mild response.

"You can't break one of the engines!"

The Vulcan raises an eyebrow. "Indeed?"

"I mean—" he flounders, "what about—" He thinks hard. There is something niggling at him. It comes into an alarming focus. "What about Mr. Scott!"

Mr. Scott. _Scotty_. The man who calls his engineering deck "precious" and harbors an undying love for the Lady Enterprise. McCoy closes his eyes, thinking of the way Scotty gripes about Starfleet keeping money close to the belt so "that we cannae even find a decent set o' tools!" Montgomery Scott, he remembers, hates the cold with a passion (a result of his lock-down on Delta Vega years past) and squirrels away in the Jefferies tubes when hypospray-armed nurses are on the hunt.

Leonard is drawn back from the short starburst of memories, as if a door had opened in his brain and Scotty came out to greet McCoy after a long period between friendly visits.

Spock is watching him. "The pace of your healing is remarkable."

"I told you, Spock, it sorta strikes me out of nowhere. Given the cranial damage and swelling I initially experienced, I'm rather lucky to be here at all."

"Yes." Spock's eyes are steady and surprisingly un-Vulcan. "There was a period in which your recovery was precarious. I was... unsure that we would interact again."

McCoy tamps down the reflexive need to pat the Vulcan's shoulder. He engages in mental patting instead.

"All that worrying was moot, Mr. Spock."

"An obvious conclusion," says his companion.

Well, they barely escaped that rocky, emotional territory. McCoy doubts that Spock enjoys the tearful hugs of reunion. Leonard shudders at the thought.

"It all worked out. The Enterprise _does_ have a properly trained medical staff, you know." Why does he want to say something snarky like _because the Enterprise cannot function a day without one_? He ignores that and continues, "Geoff may specialize in Vulcan physiology but he isn't hapless in _other_ areas of doctoring. The man's brilliant; otherwise I wouldn't have demanded him for Assistant Chief Medical Officer." If talking with Spock makes his brain wake up and fire off this many bits of information, then McCoy might just have to move in with the First Officer.

That would freak out—and possibly terrify—a good number of crewmen.

"Dr. M'Benga has my gratitude."

Leonard bites back the urge to follow that trail of conversation and turns his attention to the safer route. "Don't distract me. Getting between Scotty and the engines will take more brute force than an army of crazy Klingons."

Spock has that twinkle back in his eyes. Leonard is really beginning to suspect that it foretells of Vulcan mischief-making.

"I will not attempt to convince our Chief Engineer for the need of mechanical sabotage. Rather you, Doctor, will provide a distraction while I implement minor adjustments to the warp-core circuitry."

Spock smiles with his eyes, McCoy thinks offhandedly.

"I believe the phrase is 'buy time.'"

He sputters. "Hell no!"

The Vulcan is unswayed by fervent and creatively vulgar protests. Eventually McCoy wears down.

He sighs one last time. "You are damned annoying, do you know that?"

"You have professed the sentiment exactly—"

"Don't" warns the irate man, "tell me that number."

Spock tilts his head in acquiescence.

Leonard says, "I'm gonna need a drink if we're to plan mutiny."

"The consumption of a strong beverage would not be wise. I also suspect that it is prohibited under Dr. M'Benga's medical orders."

He snorts. "It can't make the headache I've got any worse, Spock. And considering what we stand to lose if we fail, I'd say you ought to make yourself a drink too." He sits down, pulling his fingers in a short tug through his hair. "Doctor's orders."

Spock does not disagree with him.

The Vulcan unearths a bottle of finely aged bourbon from a shelf of exotic artifacts; so either Spock is a secret alcoholic or the doctor is somewhat of a regular guest in these quarters. Leonard smiles, watching as the Vulcan pours one glass, and basks in a simple and sweet truth.

Spock is his friend too.


	4. Part Three

**Part Three**

_Jem-me._

The face in the mirror is a young, hard-eyed Captain Kirk. Beneath the facade lies a monster.

The image of the man fades first to a soft blur of washed-out colors; then it drains away completely to unmitigated black. Reflection-less, the creature flicks a thought into that void.

_Jem-me._

A hesitation and a stirring.

One lone thought floats weakly to the surface. It is a simple, forlorn _Hello?_

_Awaken, young one_, says the thing which wears a face not its own.

There is a stretch of silence while the echo of the _Hello?_ grows strong, takes form and vibrancy. It becomes something else then—a recognition.

A name.

_Jem—Jimmy?_ More forcefully, _Jim_.

_Yes,_ agrees the other. _You are the remnants of a human named James Tiberius Kirk._

The thoughts—there are a jumble of them now—pull back when the creature reaches out with wonder.

_Do not be afraid._

The thoughts chatter that they don't understand what that means.

It commands softly, _Remember_.

There is a pause, then a flash of color. The creature draws out the memory of a babe against a mother's breast, content. Another flash—the elation of a young boy sprinting through a corn field, his heart pumping, breath letting loose in short bursts. The memories develop, one after the other, like a picture book.

The creature says suddenly, intensely, _Stop! I have little use for these._ It concentrates and forces its will to wrap around those pieces of Jim Kirk. _Remember the starship,_ it feeds into the chaotic mass. A thought greedily latches onto a laughable image of a starship, as if drawn by a child, and transforms it into a gleaming, glorious Enterprise.

_Now within the ship... friends._ A muted shape of a tall being.

Jim puzzles over the offering briefly before carefully molding a loyal First Officer named Spock.

The creature rumbles satisfication and gives the next barely formed creation, not as tall but which softly whispers _Jim, jim, jim..._ like a siren's call.

The doctor Bones is born of an ease and an attention to delicate detail.

The thoughts coalecse into something firmer, more daring, and surround these objects with pleasure.

_Remember now, Jem-me, remember them and give all to me..._

But the thoughts do not.

They resist and cry _Mine!_

_No_ is the almost gentle correction, like a parent to its offspring. _The memories belong to me_.

_I am Jim,_ insists these thoughts, unexpectedly outlined as a man. There is a sheen of gold lining the edges.

_You were Jem_, it answers serenely. _You have relinquished your claim on your destiny. You are no more._

It reaches for the starship, the Vulcan, and the doctor but cannot take them back. This shining gold (alive) human—a series of determined thoughts and feelings (the essence of the soul) is almost solid, and it fights to hold onto its gifts.

The creature feels a momentary pity for the pathetic Jem-me before using a sharp-edged thought like the strike of a mace to break apart that which had attempted to become whole. Transformed back into free floating thoughts, a collective rage builds.

It croons, _Sleep. Forget._

_Never!_

Such amusing defiance.

The creature/sea dragon/_monster with no name_ does what it was born to, lulls its prey back into oblivion with a low warbling hum.

When Jim has subsided into nothing, once again a broken melee of human shards, the not-Captain Kirk releases the mirror back to its proper state and considers its options. It walks dangerous ground with this face as long as Jem-me's friends live. It wanted to learn more of the boy's past with the ones named Spock and McCoy, to prepare for swaying these potentially troublesome ones into believing_ it_ is Jim Kirk.

Jem-me is a difficult man to control, even locked away in the Abyss. It had not anticipated resistance; Jem-me should not harbor a self independent of his master.

An underestimation of a lively bit of prey.

The creature looks at its human face, smooth and strange. The structure of the skull shifts beneath skin before settling back into shape.

This is a face and a destiny to be enjoyed. It won't bring Jem-me back again unless its need is dire. One mistake will be one too many—and create an opportunity for Jem-me to escape.

* * *

"Maybe we ought to rethink this..." McCoy peers around the entrance to one of Scotty's favorite hide-outs in Engineering. The Scotsman is perched on a metal panel, idly tapping a booted foot and engrossed in a PADD which could only be drolly highlighting the epic debate betweeen conductor trillium coils versus old-fashioned something-or-other. (The doctor would rather chew rocks than pay attention to Scotty's excited yammering over the latest tech journal.)

There is an irritatingly _silent_ Vulcan at his back. Leonard decides that Spock must agree with the doctor's infinitely wiser suggestion of retreat and shuffles backwards with every intention of forcing Spock to take a yielding step into the corridor when a hand plants firmly between his shoulder blades and _shoves_ him into the open doorway.

The man only has a split second to swallow his budding exclamation of "Spock!" before Scotty looks up, startled, at the sight of Dr. Leonard McCoy.

Montgomery Scott's "Doctor!" is pleasantly surprised but quickly gives way to a shadow of concern. "Are ye alright? Ye aren't lost?"

Leonard clears his throat, thinks _in for a penny, in for a pound_, and steps fully into the small, warm alcove of quietly murmuring engines. "Er, hi there." _Smooth, McCoy._ "I, uh, I'm not lost. I mean, I could be lost since the whole ship's so damn convoluted but..." _Fuck, I'm babbling._ He clears his throat again and stares at Scotty, silently tossing the conversational ball into the engineer's lap.

Scotty blinks once, twice.

Leonard looks pained and says, "You know about my memory loss, I suppose?"

The man nods and replies, "Aye. And a right tragedy that is, Doctor. The Enterprise has given us some fine things to remember over these last few years."

Really? McCoy approaches that honest face and tells him, "I am remembering some things. You, actually."

"Me?"

"The palms of your hands..." he says with a sudden flash of insight. "You burned them severely that time one of the bulkheads collapsed near Chamber Six. Ensign Yarrow—" He sucks in a breath.

"I couldnae save her," finishes Scotty sadly.

_Idiot! _Even a wit-addled man doesn't have an excuse to spread misery. McCoy's apology is sincere. "I'm developing a bad habit of sticking my foot in my mouth," explains Leonard grimly.

Scotty makes a noise of _it's alright_ and _nevermind, you're forgiven_. He switches the subject. Leonard is grateful.

"It's a good thing ye are recovering, Doctor McCoy. This ship misses her CMO."

"Well I won't be practicing quite yet. Jim says I've got to retrieve all my marbles before I can go about antagonizing people with hyposprays."

Scotty looks at him strangely. "The Captain said that?"

_No._ The Captain had said, "You are on medical leave until deemed capable of working." But while that didn't seem odd at the time (it's not like McCoy had anything to compare it to) his mind tugs him into a different view. Somehow, McCoy thinks a man like Jim—a man who should be his very close friend—would be more teasing. Although, Leonard is uncertain why he enjoys the idea of antagonizing Jim with a sharp object.

He mentally slaps himself and focuses on the _here-now_. "You know Jim," hedges the doctor.

Scotty's agreement is half-hearted and followed by a troubled downturn of his mouth.

He has to ask, "Something wrong?"

A shrug clearly means _maybe_.

Now is the time to get information, to inspect for possible signs of a dire situation from another perspective. It isn't that McCoy disbelieves Spock, but he, well, for all intensive purposes only met the Vulcan _a little over two days ago_. Confirmation would be good, despite that McCoy feels a mild guilt for wanting it. He has to know that Spock's suspicions are not unwarranted or the product of a lunatic First Officer.

Leonard is full of questions because he is almost literally empty of a knowledge base—at least, on a social level.

He tries to mimic a casual, friendly slump near but not too close to Scotty. "Can you... tell me a little about Captain Kirk?"

The engineer runs a hand over his PADD before abandoning it to fully address McCoy's inquiry.

"I see no harm in it, though ye have known the Capt'n longer than I. Strange, that we'd havin' such a conversation. Nay, nay," insists Scotty at Leonard's attempt to withdraw his question. "Capt'n Kirk is a fine man and there's naught a crewman aboard who doesn't appreciate what an honor it is to serve under 'im."

_Jim definitely has a loyal fanbase_, thinks McCoy. He idly wonders if that can make a man a better or worse captain.

Scotty launches into one of Kirk's heroic feats, even becoming so entrenched in the tale that he imitates Captain Kirk's mighty punches—a tale which Leonard suspects is a tad exaggerated. (There's no way someone could make a Klingon "weep tears of remorse"—blood, maybe, but not _remorse_.) Despite all, Leonard finds himself grinning and chuckling.

They share, rather McCoy listens and Scotty happily chats, a good number of minutes comfortably walking down memory lane. (For Leonard, it is new and intriguing.) Scotty is halted in the middle of "...and then I tried to warn the Capt'n that the drink had a fierce kick to her but he downed the whole—" when a wall comm crackles to life.

"Mr. Scott! Engine Room to Mr. Scott!"

Scotty rolls his eyes heaven-ward and talks into the unit, "Calm down, lad. What's this about?"

"Sir, we think—there's a code going off—"

The ship hiccups and Leonards cringes.

_Oh shit_.

The speaker is now frantically talking gibberish as Mr. Scott gasps with horror. His "Dinnae touch anything, _ANYTHING!_" is already trailing away as the engineer fairly sprints out of the alcove. Leonard peeks down the corridor, listening to the lingering echoes of heavily accented cursing.

"You did well, Doctor."

McCoy jumps, turns on the voice's owner and doesn't hesitate to give Spock his opinion of sneaky Vulcans who cause heartattacks in ailing patients.

Spock has to be amused. There is just no other way to read that body language.

"Well?" grumps the doctor next.

"I was successful in my endeavors."

"Great. Mission To Be Caught and Tossed Out of an Air-lock is going as planned. Remind me why I'm such a nutball for agreeing to your crazy scheme."

"I anticipate that you will remember those reasons in due time," answers the unperturbed Vulcan.

Leonard sighs. "So you've prevented warp speed. Now what?"

"We wait."

"For?"

Spock shows a hint of uncertainty for the first time that Leonard can remember (although, granted, that doesn't cover a large span of time). "If the Captain retains Jim's education, then he will seek us out.

"That doesn't sound good," he replies with hesitation.

"It is not. Under those circumstances, the Captain will realize there is doubt of his identity among the crew." Spock pauses.

Leonard notes that Spock did not say _his crew_.

"We must prepare for investigation."

After a moment of thought, McCoy meets Spock's eyes. "Then we'll be prepared—and ready to investigate _him_ in return."

Spock gives a slight nod. Then, in an unspoken agreement to speak no more of the events they may face, he leads McCoy back to the upper decks. "Come. You must rest."

Leonard settles for matching the Vulcan's stride and proposing a compromise that McCoy naps when Spock naps. His friend doesn't resist overly much.

**

* * *

**

Well, this is slow building... :P


	5. Part Four

**Part Four**

Leonard draws the line at hiding in Spock's quarters. He is tired, not exactly confused and most definitely wary. The man named Leonard McCoy has an entire life that has gone missing and he isn't sure where to look to find it. But his quarters become one of the first places to search.

He has spent time here, touching things and wishing they would act as a trigger. When he had finally demanded to be released from Sickbay and then given into the concession of a personal escort by M'Benga, he recalls the initial relief of being let free into the world again. Of course, walking into the place he lives (not even knowing your own passcode to get in) had still been a shock.

M'Benga had watched Leonard halt hesitantly just inside the door and said quietly, "It's okay. Just take your time. Look around."

How frustrating to see things and not know that they belong to you.

He was not neat in his housekeeping if the scattered footwear and towels were any indication. A thousand questions demanded answers. Did McCoy always keep his toothbrush on the right side of the sink? How many times had he read the dog-eared copy of that ancient medical text?

There were so many small details, Leonard realized then, that he simply did not know about himself. It was like looking in on the life of a stranger and being expected to step into that person's shoes.

The man slips into his quarters now with that same unease hovering about him. In some ways, he might as well be an uninvited guest because nothing feels personal here. Even the holopic of his daughter that he has touched at least fifteen times, propped on the nightstand to gaze at, is utterly foreign.

She's such a beautiful girl. Why is McCoy in space instead of raising her? Is he a bad father?

The worst of it is that these pieces of Leonard McCoy scattered haphazardly around the room are hard to interpret. For one thing, he isn't sure what should stand out, which are signs of a personality or a habit; and more importantly, the obvious places to search tell him little. Leonard spent a night reading through a list of past correspondence and only discovered that he doesn't mind expressing his strong opinions, whether to Starfleet officials or a starship captain. There are a series of vids under a folder labeled Jo and those McCoy cannot quite bring himself to watch.

There is not a journal to read or the most mundane of notes in his handwriting.

_Leonard McCoy is a man of little attachment, it seems._

So he turns his mind to the events of yesterday. It occurs to McCoy, in the aftermath of Spock's troubling explanation, that Leonard had ample time to pursue this creature attacking the ship. After all, didn't Spock say that it was he who found the Vulcan and the Captain on the planet—like a one-man rescue team?

Where is the evidence of his search for Jim and Spock?

And how in the world did he manage to locate them on the planet when no one else could?

These are the questions that prick at McCoy. Lying on his back with a belly full of warm alcohol, Leonard stares at nothing in particular. After some time, he comes to the conclusion that there is only one possibility which makes sense.

He must have made a deal. That leads Leonard to wonder exactly what price he agreed to pay.

McCoy falls into a fitful, short sleep which ends when he catapults awake from a nightmare of a tight hold on his wrist and the words _You are ill._

* * *

When Kirk walks the corridors, the first two ensigns and an unlucky lieutenant who greet him are treated to a silence and a razor-sharp assessment. The Captain's cold response is unusual enough that word spreads quickly among personnel to steer clear of the man. For those who are closest to Jim, it incites a thoughtful consideration of his behavior.

"What do you think is bothering the Keptin?" asks Chekov as he swallows a forkful of his lunch.

Sulu glances around, not spying any others from the alpha bridge crew. "I heard him when Scotty reported in with the bad news. He was unusually," The pilot pauses, as if weighing his next word, "harsh."

"Yes," mumbles Chekov. "I thought it wery strange."

"The Captain or the engine malfunction?"

"Both."

They concentrate on eating for a minute or two. Slowly, Sulu leans forward to comment in a low voice that won't carry through the buzzing conversation in the mess hall. "I've never heard him speak to, well, _anyone_ that way before—let alone Mr. Scott. I don't know, Pavel. Something's not right."

Chekov nods vigorously. "In Russia, we know many things, see many things. The Keptin could be an _erestun_."

"What is an... e-rest-un?" Sulu fails miserably at pronouncing the word. Chekov beams nevertheless at his friend's attempt.

"'Tis a man who makes a wery dark deal and once he dies, returns as an—how do you say?—em-bodee-ment of _evil._"

Chekov's lunch companion blinks and says the first thing that comes to mind. "But Kirk isn't, um... dead."

"No," agrees the navigator, chewing a piece of apple thoughtfully.

"Then how can he be a zombie?"

"Vhat is a zombie?"

"The soulless undead that snacks on brain matter."

Chekov glances down at his half-eaten meal, slides it with care to the far end of the table, and makes a furtive motion with one hand. It doesn't go unnoticed by Sulu. "What was that?"

"Vhat?"

"That thing you just did. You do it on the bridge too. Everytime the Captain walks by."

Chekov's eyes are wide. "Oh, but—"

"No worries," assures his friend. "I only noticed because we sit next to each other."

"It is an old family tradition, to ward off the attention of bad things."

"You mean against the Evil Eye, right?"

"Yes! That is it!"

"So Kirk has the Evil Eye now?"

Chekov bits his bottom lip. "I do not know," he says slowly. "But I don't vant to find out."

"Maybe we're crazy and the Captain is having a bad week," Hikaru Sulu offers.

They stare at each other and know that neither one of them believes that to be true. The question remains: What should they do now?

* * *

Christine finds Leonard McCoy secluded in his office. She peeks inside, frowns and walks in with a token tap.

McCoy's greeting by way of a grunt is so familiar that she feels one layer of tension ease. There are the little signs of her boss and friend in this man, enough so that she holds hard to the belief that he will recover his memory soon.

Then she thinks of some things which would be terrible to remember and shudders.

Christine carefully steps around a pile of paperwork on the floor, past three carelessly discarded medical journals and says to McCoy, "Want to tell me why a mini hurricane visited your office this morning?"

It's then that Leonard realizes he is, in fact, not alone and there is a nurse with her hands on her hips and a stern expression glaring at him.

"Uh..." manages the doctor as he glances around as if seeing the mess in his office for the first time.

She takes pity on his poor traumatized brain. It's been through enough. "I'll forgive you, Len. Now tell me what you are looking for."

His brows do that bunching-thing that always amuses her. "What in tarnation do you mean _you'll forgive me_?"

"Who do you think cleans your office?"

He opens his mouth like a fish. "Me?"

She laughs. She actually laughs, and it is very welcoming to her weary heart. "No, you old Southern goat. _Me._ It's a pact we have. I keep your office in shape, including filing—which I _despise_," she adds for good measure. "In return, you don't live in here all day and all night."

"That's a pretty poor pact on your end," the man replies slowly. "Why would you do that?"

She smiles again and shrugs. "We're friends, Leonard, not simply colleagues. And, trust me, I call in the debt when there's something I want."

His mumble is so low that she pretends she doesn't hear it and lets the subject drop. She does a survey of the scene, categorizing bits of the catastrophe. Chapel re-organizes a set of PADDs on the desk and as her hand rescues a teetering PADD at the edge, she happens to catch a glance of its contents.

Medical records.

The Starfleet Medical emblem blazes at the top of the screen and the lower half is occupied by a list of every logged medical examination of Doctor Leonard McCoy since his appointment aboard the Enterprise.

Her stomach does an unpleasant flop.

Leonard takes the PADD from her trembling hands with a frown. "There's something not right," he says as he stares at it. "I don't know, Chris... But I _feel_ like I'm missing a huge piece of the puzzle."

"What could be a bigger puzzle piece than your memories?" she asks once her voice steadies.

Those eyes look up at her, uncertain at first and then critically sharp. "Are you a'right? Here—" He talks as he stands, clearing a chair for her after tossing more items to the floor. "—sit a minute."

She sighs somewhat despondently at the rapidly amplifying state of chaos in the office. When McCoy grabs a tricorder from the inside of an abandoned shotglass, she shakes her head. "I'm just tired. It's been a long week." _More than a week_, she thinks.

"I'm the CMO, Nurse Chapel," he explains as he ignores her and sets the tricorder to _whirring_ with data. "I'll thank you to let me do my job."

Christine waits until he is done. "Well?"

He crosses his arms. "Get some real sleep" is the sage advice.

Her mouth curves but she doesn't say _I told you so._

Leonard's mouth twitches with amusement. He leans against his desk and crosses his legs. "Can I ask you something?"

"I'll try my best to answer you," she tells him.

He begins, "The creature was first arrested after it attacked me..."

She interrupts with "It did more than that. It kidnapped and—"

"I know all that."

"You do?"

"Yeah. Spock told me."

_He didn't tell you everything, did he?_ She nods for Leonard to continue.

He clears his throat. "Okay, it pulled a number on us and we managed to take it into custody. Am I right so far?" He raises his eyebrow.

She nods again.

"Then where is my medical report?"

Christine closes her eyes.

"Chris..."

"All parties were examined. We—"

"Chris."

"—followed protocol, I assure you, Doctor."

"_Christine_."

She opens her eyes. "The log entry of your examination was never closed out. You asked for your results and I gave them to you. What you did with them beyond that, I didn't ask."

"Why?"

She can't answer that.

Leonard looks at her, not understanding, and she now faces what she has dreaded all along, had been saved from that first time because Leonard already knew about his illness.

"Please. If there is a small chance this may help me figure out what's going on..." McCoy takes her hand and squeezes. "You said we're friends. Won't you help me?"

She sees the face of a man who is desperate for answers and very much afraid of living without them. Christine knows then that to keep anything to herself won't aid him in the end at all. "You're sick, Leonard," she says as gently as she can.

"I know that—"

"No, I mean you were sick before... and you still are."

The impact of the words sinks in. His expression changes from bemused to blank. "What is the illness?" he asks after a short silence, with a facade of professionalism that she recognizes well.

"Xenopolycythemia."

His second silence is longer and Leonard's gaze fixes somewhere above Chapel's head. Then, just when she thinks that she cannot stand the silence another moment, McCoy comes back to life. "That explains a few odd readings I came across." He turns away. The next words are spoken so softly that Christine strains to hear them. "_You are ill_."

"Leonard?"

The man sinks into his chair and runs a hand through his hair. "Christine," he tells her, "I'm starting to paint a picture I don't like."

"What are you talking about?"

"The creature," he says. "It knew, didn't it?"

"You implied as much when I confronted you about it. The Captain—"

His full attention swings to her. "Jim?"

She nods. "You told the Captain and Mr. Spock."

Leonard straightens in righteous indignation. "Spock _knew?_ And that hobgoblin didn't tell me!" His voice rises to a pitch that it usually does in association with Mr. Spock.

She replies with a bit of tartness, "What did you expect Mr. Spock to say? Welcome back, sorry about the amnesia and oh, by the way, you've got an incurable disease?"

Leonard's laugh surprises her. "Lord, I doubt Spock would _ever_ say that. And if he did, _he'd_ be the one in dire need of a head examination!"

They let the relief of a few small chuckles break the miserable air of the room. Leonard rubs the back of his neck and sighs. She wants to know what he plans to do next so she asks.

The doctor, a long-time friend and a man with a good soul, simply shrugs. "Keeping waiting, I suppose."

"For your memories to come back?"

"Not exactly." The sheepish look on his face is fair warning.

Christine leans forward in her chair, the armrests gripped in her hands. "Len, why don't I like the sound of that?"

"You shouldn't," McCoy advises.

She almost asks him to explain and then thinks better of it. With a determination that saw her through copious study-hours of medical school, Christine Chapel rises and manages to say succinctly, "And I'm sure that I don't want to know. Just answer this one question, if you please, Doctor McCoy."

He looks like a deer caught in headlights. "Okay."

"Is the Captain aware of the situation?"

McCoy has a strange look in his eyes. "You could say he's part of it."

She isn't sure what to make of that.

Then he adds, "But Spock's one determined Vulcan."

"Half-Vulcan," she corrects.

He snorts. "Point in case."

At that, Christine bids Leonard McCoy good evening.

_So,_ she thinks once secure in the farthest reaches of Sickbay counting inventory for distraction. _Spock doesn't think that the Captain is Jim Kirk either._

She hopes that the impostor doesn't realize the Enterprise crew is catching on. The element of surprise is quite possibly their only salvation.


	6. Part Five

**Please be sure you have read Part Four!**

**

* * *

**

Part Five

"So..." McCoy catches Spock sedately turning the corner of a corridor on Deck 39.

The Vulcan stops when he encounters the doctor with an expectant and an advantageous position to block his path. Spock's eyebrow climbs in greeting.

Leonard decides to skip the hunt and tree the prey. "When were you planning on mentioning that I'm on the fast track to the Great Beyond? After I start coughing up blood?"

Wow, he didn't know it was possible for Vulcans to pale like that.

Leonard shrugs in what he hopes is a bracingly nonchalant manner. "But hey, who am I to complain—it's not like we're _friends_."

Then Spock opens his mouth after a moment of pause and says, rather sincerely, "Forgive me, Leonard. In my inaction, I committed a grievous error and caused you pain."

Damn. Vulcans are good at remorse, aren't they?

Now Leonard feels a little guilty for sticking Spock with verbal barbs. It had been too simple to let his shock turn into bright anger and zero in on the most obvious target. As a doctor, McCoy may have experience with relaying a grave diagnosis to a patient but he can't assume that others so readily understand that even bad news is a common courtesy.

He grimaces. "I guess I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to jump down your throat. I was just... a little surprised."

"Understandable, Doctor," murmurs the Vulcan.

"Spock." Leonard reaches out hesitantly to see if Spock will reject the contact. When Spock does not, he touches the sleeve of the Vulcan's uniform. "We ought to talk. About everything. Do you have a minute?"

"The Captain has requested my presence on the Bridge."

"You're off shift?"

Spock nods.

The decision is easy to make. "Alright. Let's go 'n see what the man wants."

McCoy marches purposefully to the turbolift at the end of hall. Spock's voice reaches him when he depresses the button to call the lift.

"You desire to go to the Bridge." Spock phrases it as a statement but Leonard picks up on the inherent question.

He gives the First Officer of the Enterprise a strange look. "Why wouldn't I? And don't give me any bull-hocky about regulations! I'm a doctor with a Chief Medical Officer's responsibilities. I'm sure it's in my contract somewhere that I ought to have full access to this ship."

Spock says nothing during Leonard's mini-speech and once the doctor runs out of breath, the Vulcan remarks, "I would not attempt to censure your demands, Doctor McCoy."

That twinkle is back in Spock's eyes. Leonard makes room for him in the lift, all the while resisting the urge to poke the Vulcan in a very annoying, childish manner. Spock, no doubt, realizes this because he subtly shifts his proximity to _not-so-close to whimsical humans_.

Leonard pretends to listen to the computer count the decks as they rise while, instead, he silently wonders how many times he has poked Spock in the past and gotten away with it. A quick glance at the slightly wary Vulcan cements his suspicion that the answer is _a lot_.

* * *

Uhura pretends not to notice when McCoy enters the Bridge directly on the heels of Mr. Spock. And she hastily aborts the interested swivel of her head when the Captain's cold voice slices through the air.

"You are not authorized on this level, McCoy."

The doctor answers in a calm drawl, "Why, Jim, you've never made a fuss about my visits before."

Has Leonard regained his memory?

She glances furtively at him and decides that his agitated posture has more to do with uncertainty than the usual banter.

It's a difficult thing to ignore the dangerous tete-a-tete between Kirk and McCoy. Such an occurrence happens so rarely in public unless the issue is a serious matter between the Captain and the CMO of the starship. Even then, the doctor is generally careful enough not to undermine Kirk's authority as leader. They could never work together if some professional lines were not observed. Secretly, she thinks that both Kirk and McCoy are wise enough not to rile the prim First Officer who would, quite simply and at length, remind them of the proper etiquette and protocol befitting officers of high rank.

She fiddles with her earpiece, almost on edge for the Captain's response to McCoy's unsubtle challenge.

It shouldn't be surprising when Mr. Spock cuts in smoothly, "Are you unwell, Captain?"

Kirk measures Spock—and his question—as a suspicious man looks for a trap. Spock remains standing next to McCoy at the railing, not approaching the Captain but not giving ground either. It's a pattern that she is starting to recognize, as if the Vulcan has forbidden himself to step within a five-foot range of the man.

Strange.

And perhaps more than strange, now that Nyota notes this new behavior. Jim was one of the first people to earn admission into Spock's carefully maintained personal space. Something has changed.

When was the last time that Jim Kirk brushed shoulders with his First Officer out of habit?

In fact, when was the last time that Jim Kirk initiated a friendly gesture to any crew member as he has been wont to do in the past?

The current conversation draws her back from her thoughts.

"My health is not in question, Mr. Spock."

"It is my duty as First Officer to inquire of such matters."

"I have no time for this," says Kirk in a short temper. "You are here to answer _my_ command." The emphasis is not subtle.

"Very well. How may I assist you at this time?"

"Mr. Scott has failed to identify why we are unable to go to warp."

"Scotty can't figure it out?" inputs McCoy incredulously. "You gotta be mistaken."

"I said _why_, not _what_ prevents us, McCoy. The circumstance is clear. Someone sabotaged my ship."

She isn't able to waylay her jerk of surprise. Across the Bridge, Pavel Chekov makes a small exclamation in Russian. Sulu shushes him.

The Captain continues. "I want the reason—and I want the perpetrator. The Chief Engineer has not provided answers; he is incompetent. You, Mr. Spock, will conduct a full investigation. The guilty party is to be arrested and residing in the brig by 0900 tomorrow. No exceptions."

The last part falls like the wrath of an angry god and in its wake is speechless disbelief.

McCoy clearly wants to say something but Spock's quiet "_Doctor_" warns him to remain silent.

The First Officer nods once to Kirk. "I will comply with the wishes of my captain."

Kirk seems to accept that answer. "Dismissed." He adds to the doctor who reluctantly follows Spock to the lift doors, "McCoy."

"Yes, Captain?"

"Unless I ask for you," warns the hard-eyed man too softly, "your jurisdiction does not extend to the Bridge, effective immediately."

Nyota bites at her bottom lip when McCoy doesn't simply bow out. "May I ask why the change of heart, Sir?"

They all want to know the answer to that.

Kirk doesn't give it to them. "No, you may not." He directs his attention to the screen of stars in clear dismissal. "Sulu, how long can the Enterprise maintain orbit without significant decent into the atmosphere?"

Spock and McCoy exit the Bridge, and Nyota blocks out Sulu's somewhat nervous answer.

It is no longer a matter of what is wrong with Jim. Now she wants to know _who the Hell is he?_

* * *

"I'll be damned if I call a man like that my friend!" rants McCoy.

Because Spock is silent (has been silent since they left the Bridge), McCoy steps in front of the Vulcan walking alongside him.

"Spock," Leonard asks, seeks a sign of what his companion is thinking, "what are you going to do?"

"I do not know."

"Jim—oh Hell, let's call it Kirk or something because it ain't a Jim."

Spock blinks.

"_Kirk_," clarifies McCoy, "expects you to arrest somebody. Unless you're gonna handcuff yourself..."

"I have no intentions in that direction, Doctor."

"Then, for God's sake, tell me your plan!"

"It may disturb you."

McCoy groans. "I've been disturbed since I woke up and didn't recognize my own face, Spock."

"Based on the known parameters, I can only conclude that the optimal tactic is no tactic," replies the Vulcan.

Leonard makes a noise in the back of his throat which might be repressed hysteria. "Well, that's the most _illogical_ nonsense I've heard from you yet! Your plan is to _not have a plan?_"

"Jim refers to it, I believe, as 'winging it.' Although," Spock pauses in thought, "I have yet to comprehend the purpose of wings in this reference."

He barely manages to avoid smacking the Vulcan upside his pointy-eared head in the middle of the corridor. (Notably, from the looks of a few passing ensigns, an altercation between the two officers would not be unexpected.) McCoy's own brain aches with the beginnings of a migraine.

"You know what I think, Spock?" he says grimly. "I think we're at a dead end."

"On the contrary, progress has been achieved."

"How?"

"Without the distraction of a Captain's duties to Starfleet, Jim's impersonator is more likely to reveal his true nature."

"You mean the longer we keep Kirk idling here instead of space hopping, the easier it will be to crack his facade."

"Precisely."

McCoy shakes his head. "Spock, I sure hope you know what you're doing. 'Cause I don't. I really, really don't."

"Until the time in which you do, your presence suffices, Leonard."

If only McCoy had that much confidence in himself. Since he doesn't, McCoy accepts Spock's confidence in him instead.


	7. Part Six

**Part Six**

Leonard falls asleep, only to be rattled awake by another terrifying dream. This time, it is more solid than the flash of too dark eyes and chilling words; the dream is an omen and a memory too jumbled for McCoy to separate. Ignoring the beads of sweat gathering along his skin, he closes his eyes and tries to recall what it was that scared him so badly.

_Someone is whispering, "I always thought that we would have more time..."_

Leonard opens his eyes and finds himself in a dark room. There is a golden-haired man with his back to McCoy. When Leonard calls "Jim!" the man glances over his shoulder and says, rather sadly, "Hey, Bones."

It seems completely natural to plead, "Jim, tell me what's bothering you."

"Your death."

His heart pounds loudly in the darkness. "I'm not dead, kid."

"Bones, how can you leave me?"

"I'm not—"

"You promised!"

Jim spins around with a ferocity, reaching out, which should scare Leonard. Somehow, it does not.

(He knows this man. Knows him well.)__

Jim draws the man in close until their chests are almost touching and drops his head onto Leonard's shoulder. McCoy runs his fingers through that short hair, feels a trembling under his fingers.

He thinks, This is a dream. I'm dreaming of Jim._ Then, _Jimmy.__

"You're gonna be alright," he says, pressing his cheek against that bowed head. "I'm sorry I lied."

Jim mumbles into the fabric of Leonard's uniform (surgical wear, he realizes with a jolt), "I'm sorry sorry sorrysorrysorry..." until the words become a chant.

He doesn't mean to say so harshly, "Stop it."

Jim lifts his head. It's then that McCoy finally feels fear. Kirk's eyes are beyond dilated, the irises completely gone.

"McCoy," calls the not-Jim in a stilted voice.

Arms tighten around him. He can't move, can't fight. Can't— "Let go!"

"We are linked now," it says.

Its mouth no longer contains blunt human teeth; they are sharp, frightening. He struggles twice as hard, crying out as it leans in and sinks fangs into the skin of his shoulder. It lets him go, then, and McCoy stumbles back, a hand pressed against the sickly wet patch of the new wound.

The thing with Jim's face licks its bloody bottom lip and grins. "McCoy's destiny tastes better."

He says without thinking, "I thought it was piss poor."

"Not anymore," croons the monster. "I taste cure for McCoy. Cure soon."  


Leonard turns on his side, unwilling to let sleep call him back into an oblivion with a monster. He presses a hand against his face, needing his treacherous lax body to wake up. In a voice is still choked with sleep, he croaks, "Lights 50%. Time."

The bedroom brightens. _0632, stardate..._

He doesn't listen to the rest, doesn't care, because it's early morning and the deadline is in less than two and a half hours.

_Shit shit shit._

Dressing in what must be record-time, McCoy is out of his room and on his way to Spock's quarters. He ignores the random greetings of the few people bustling about the halls, preparing for alpha shift.

Spock doesn't answer his door, and McCoy is pissed at himself for having forgotten something as important as the Vulcan's passcode. It seems _right_ that he should know it. Sickbay is no help either, though M'Benga is finishing up gamma shift. The younger doctor has no answers for McCoy's sharp questions.

It seems that no one has been arrested, at least no one needing medical attention, and M'Benga protests that that sort of news simply does not speed its way to the medical bay.

Leonard lacks the patience of a saint and tells him, "If anything, Sickbay _is_ the type of place for gossip. Damn it, Geoff, time's running out. What if..." He bites his tongue at that point and shuts his mouth, remembering not to give too much away.

M'Benga organizes a set of PADDs from an in-box and tries to calm his stressed colleague. "I'm not sure I understand why you are frustrated, but you can always ask the Captain for Mr. Spock's whereabouts. He usually has some idea."

_Kirk is the last person I would—_ Leonard's thought break off as an idea strikes him.

"Nevermind," he tells M'Benga. "I'll figure something out."

"Are you sure—"

"Always. If you see Christine on your way, tell her—" He pauses. "—tell her I'll be running late."

It's best not to wait for Geoff's questions.

Out in the corridor again, he thinks, _This is a bad plan, you idiot._

But it is a plan nonetheless. So Leonard steels his spine and decides to pull Spock's ass out of the fire.

* * *

If Kirk is surprised to find Leonard McCoy banging on his door, then the man is a fantastic actor. Leonard shoulders his way into the Captain's quarters.

Formalities be damned. "It was me."

Nor does Kirk pretend to misunderstand him. "Do not lie to me, McCoy."

"I'm not," insists Leonard. "I'm the one you want. I stalled the engine." He squares his shoulders and lets his voice drop to a rougher pitch. "You think I don't know who you are? That I could _ever_ forget what you tried to do to me?"

There is a strangeness in those blue eyes now, pupils dilated too wide. _Just like in my dream_, realizes McCoy. A shudder has to be forced down. He wonders how anyone—knowing the real Jim or not—could possibly take this thing for a human.

"So toss me in the brig, you demon. But I swear, people are gonna start wondering why the _Chief Medical Officer_ is a mutineer."

"You are broken," the Captain says. "It will be simple to have you tried and executed."

He stares. "We don't condone execution."

Kirk smiles. "On my _Enterprise_, we do."

He is taken aback, wondering if in any universe there could be a James T. Kirk so callous. It is a sincere hope that he will never meet that counterpart.

"It doesn't matter what you think. Call off your man-hunt."

"You are needed, McCoy. Give me the name of the one I seek and you are safe."

His disbelief is palpable. "_Needed?_ You don't need or want any of us _humans_, except maybe for feedin' time!"

He never sees the move. One second Kirk is standing by the door, amused like the bastard that he is, and in the next second, he has McCoy's arm in a tight, familiar grip. Leonard immediately resists and swings a fist at that smiling face.

Kirk easily catches his hand and twists it behind Leonard's back. "What the _fuck_—!" He is summarily hoisted away from the only exit and dragged into the bedroom. Struggling against the arm pressing in on his neck, McCoy thinks belatedly that he was foolish to enter the lair of a beast without backup.

_So stupid and paying for it he can't breathe fuck he can'tbreathe..._

There is a laugh in to his ear and a voice in his mind. _Cease your struggle and I promise no pain._

"N-no! S-stop, please—!"

_Hush. Hush and open—_

A loud _beep_ interrupts. "Communications to Captain Kirk. Captain?"

Kirk jerks them both around at the sound of the voice. He hisses and releases McCoy, who drops to the floor coughing.

The Captain is clearly not pleased when he answers the call. "Kirk here."

"Captain, I have a message marked urgent from New Vulcan. Should I—"

"Reject it, Lieutenant."

There is a pause as the person on the other end probably boggles at that order. "Excuse me?"

"_Reject it!_"

The fog in McCoy's brain clears somewhat and his legs decide to work again. With a hasty, stumbling scramble, he tries to run. He doesn't get far, because someone—_something_—flings him against a wall like a child tossing a doll.

Kirk cuts the call, looks over at his crumpled body, and says without preamble, "You may not leave until I am finished."

That is the last thing Leonard hears through the buzzing in his head.

* * *

M'Benga is tired by the time he walks into the turbolift. Finishing out a shift is never as easy as dropping your work when the clock strikes time. He completed some lingering paperwork, chatted with Christine who looks more refreshed than she has in days. It was an hour after McCoy came and left that Geoff finally managed to call his day done and leave Sickbay.

"Dr. M'Benga."

"What—oh," he says disjointedly, jerking his eyes open in surprise. The greeting comes from a Vulcan hither-to quietly occupying the other half of the lift.

At Spock's look of inquiry, he adds, "Sorry, I'm—not really here right now. You could have been a Klingon and I'd probably wouldn't have noticed." He rubs at his eyes and sighs.

"Then it is most fortunate that I am not a Klingon," replies in Spock in his dry Vulcan way.

Geoff chuckles and settles against the wall. "Well, I'm glad that I ran into you. Leonard came tearing through Sickbay wondering what you were up to."

"Fascinating."

He snorts. "I doubt he was expecting to find you there but, with the memory loss, I imagine there aren't many familiar places where Leonard feels he can go and be comfortable asking questions."

"Understandable. Did the doctor clarify his need of me?"

"Not really." Geoff looks at the Vulcan with interest. "However, he seems to believe that you are on a mission of some sort."

Spock neither confirms nor denies the idea, much to M'Benga's disappointment. Instead the First Officer gives a simple answer. "There was an incomplete audit which required my immediate attention."

"Ah." M'Benga asks, somewhat helpless at small talk, "Did you finish it?"

Mr. Spock blinks at him. "I did not. The Communications Officer routed a message to my office intended for the Captain. It... takes precedence."

Is Captain Kirk not answering his messages now? Well, that's just another notation in a long list of strange behavior.

The lift informs Geoff that his intended destination has been reached, and so Geoff has no more time for prying. He nods goodbye to the Vulcan and exits. It does not occur to him until much later, as he rests his head on a pillow, that Mr. Spock did not express concern for either McCoy or Kirk.

... Which only means that the "precedence" must be very serious, indeed, to command most of Spock's attention.


	8. Part Seven

**I think we established many eons ago that I am **_**weird**_**. On with the story!**

**

* * *

Part Seven**

_McCoy._

He comes to awareness at the sound of his name. Except he finds that there is no equivalent to opening his eyes because _Leonard has none._

_Holy shit_ is the first, panicked response.

A familiar amusement surrounds him. It is so powerful here, it almost emanates flavor.

But where is here?

_Here is nowhere and everywhere. The Abyss._

_What—what are you? What am I?_

_You are the human Leonard Horatio McCoy._

_Yes, I know that! Now where's my body?_

_It is preserved. Do not fear for your physical self._

How strange to have the full array of emotions and yet no bodily reaction. Leonard feels panic, sharp and coming in fast like a breaking wave; he recognizes the fright/terror/oh-god-help-me.

It must know how fucking scared he is. So Leonard settles for inventive, nasty mental images directed at the sea dragon which has done something horrible to his friend Jim.

Jim. Oh God, the kid. The knowledge is swift: The young man he met on a recruitment shuttle and with whom he shared a flask of strong whiskey; the idiot that never let him alone during the Academy years; the sneaky trickster that roped Leonard into a grudging respect for the wild, brilliant James Tiberius Kirk; and, later, the same battle-weary man and newly crowned captain that firmly told Starfleet Command that Dr. Leonard H. McCoy was the Enterprise's one and only CMO.

They've been friends since the beginning.

He remembers flawlessly down to minute details, the memories refitting themselves back into a gaping hole. In that moment, Leonard can see the process happening, notes that there are other places in his mind still wide open and lacking.

The word _fascinating_ flies from him unbidden and immediately thereafter comes _the hobgoblin's word!_ Sadly, he does not have body with which to giggle at the sudden lapse of Spock-ness.

Because Leonard is too busy marveling at the sensations of being just a collection of intangible thoughts, he barely spares consideration for the flicker deep down in the black Abyss.

Wonder overrides the initial terror. _What have you done to me?_

_I separated soul from body._

_How is that possible?_

The amusement fades in light of something else. It strikes Leonard as a combination of gravity and great age.

Instead of answering his question, the creature poses another: _Does memory return to McCoy?_

He considers that and pokes again at the blank spots. There are fewer of them than before. _I think so. At least, faster than it was._

_A soul is bound to a physical form during a life cycle, young one_ is the explanation.

He believes that he follows. _The link breaks when the body dies._

_Yes._

_Are you saying that you _killed_ me, you son of a bitch!_

It replies sharply, _I did not. The connection is merely weakened._

_So put me back!_

_Why?_ The question is one of simple curiosity and no remorse.

And here lies the difference between them. Leonard is appalled at the idea of playing with a man's soul; this creature thrives on it.

How is he going to convince it to let him go? And if it refuses... He can only think to ask, _What are you going to do with me?_

There is a brief moment of nothing, as if the other retreats at his question. Then, out of the dark, a spear of thought hurtles past Leonard, screaming _Wake!_ and _Jem-me!_

If he could gasp, he would. His circle of thoughts quiver instead.

The answering flicker reminds McCoy of a yawn. A thought floats into range, faint and alone. _Hello?_

Childish, small.

Jim might have sounded that way as a boy.

Leonard tingles, projects strongly with all the pieces of himself _Jim!_ Then he strains downward, only to discover that he is tethered. He fights against the hold, calling again, _Jim, it's me!_

Several thoughts are puddling together below, no longer asking _Hello?_ but echoing _Me? Me?_

He tosses out the next best thing. _Bones! It's Bones!_

Leonard feels triumphant when the collection grows and pulses brightly. _Bones?_

_Yes, Jim. Your Bones._

That which is the formerly missing Jim offers a crude shape to McCoy along with the insistence that it is _the doctor Bones_.

He thinks dryly, _Thanks, kid. Nice to know _this_ is how you picture me._ He looks like a child's version of a crazed drug addict. How wonderful.

Without too much effort, he plucks at a part of his memory and tosses it back to Jim. The immediate response is surprise mingled with incredulity.

_That's what Jimmy looks like when drunk,_ hints McCoy with satisfaction.

Quiet sets in as Jim changes in a way Leonard cannot quite comprehend. Finally, with Leonard straining for anything his friend might offer, he picks up a small whisper of a thought. _You... made me a hangover remedy._ The next part is rather petulant. _It didn't work._

He is relieved. _Nope._ This might be a place to tread softly; Leonard hopes honesty counts for something. _But that's hardly surprising. You were so sloshed you didn't even know what you poured down your throat. Remember what happened after that?_

Embarrassment. _No._

_Mm-hm. Well, I do 'cause after you chucked over all my boots—_

_Bones!_

_Yes, Jim?_

The thoughts switch from uncertainty to glowingly happy. _You're alive!_

_No shit. I'm also pissed. At you._

Jim doesn't even need to form a thought. Leonard pictures all too easily those puppy-dog eyes. That just makes him madder. _What were you thinking?_

_Thinking?_

_Okay, doing, ding-dong. That lizard bastard is captaining _your_ ship. What could possibly be worth that!_

He is inundated with Jim's confusion.

McCoy cries furiously at the monster, _What have you done to him?_

When there is no answer, he tries the equivalent of rage. Whatever Leonard ends up communicating, it causes Jim's now-golden thoughts to wobble and ask repeatedly, _Bones? Bones?_

He ignores Jim. _You asshole, I'm talking to you! You have NO right—_

_Do I not?_

The presence of Other returns, suddenly looming. _Do I not, McCoy, have a right to live?_

_Not at his expense!_

_Jem-me was not unwilling. He agreed._

_You tricked him, I know you did._ Each shove against the trap he is caught in proves useless. All Leonard wants is sweet escape and Jim.

_A hunter lures prey. This has always been. This shall always be._

He argues, the fight in him waning, _We're not animals._ Not animals. People. People, damn it.

The creature easily brings the hammer home. _You are prey._

Leonard sends out a tendril of regret/love/despair in the direction of the incomplete pieces of James Kirk.

Jim's _Bones?_ lacks understanding.

_Jem-me fades,_ the creature remarks. _Here, in the Abyss, his soul is without purpose, without Destiny, and it grows weary._

_Let him go,_ McCoy pleads. _Let Jim go free and I'll stay._ He adds half-heartedly, _I won't even fuss, I promise._

The void grows heavy with consideration. But the monster breaks his heart with an unyielding _No, McCoy._

_Please!_

_Jem-me's destiny is mine. Yours is not ripe._

_Then why the fuck did you bring me here!_ Frustration pulls him in all directions. _To torment me, is that it?_

_McCoy._

He subsides.

_When you are healed of your illness,_ it lets the words drift slowly to him like an offering of pearls in the night sky, _you may trade._

He's been here before, dealing with a devil. _How do I know you aren't lying like the other—the hatchling?_

_You cannot know._

And the harness that binds him reins the soul of Leonard into a solid mass. He feels the vestiges of a cry not his own, a cry of _Don't leave me!_ from a Jim that is smashed back to pieces by the ungentle force of the sea dragon's will.

He utters his own cry of _Jimmy!_ before the sensation of burning, _real, alive burning_ consumes him like fire.

* * *

The body of Leonard McCoy sits up and gasps, the echo of scream in his ears. He opens his eyes—every physical sense of living sharp, over-sensitized—and realizes _he can see._

Leonard has been returned.

His mind is blank except for a single, lingering thought of a name.

"Jim."

He remembers.

Jim.

* * *

Light from the corridor pierces through the darkness of the Captain's quarters. Spock steps into the room, sensing a presence. "Lights, 100%" Jim's climate control is programmed to recognize the First Officer's voice commands. Shadows bow under the brightness of the lighting.

Spock remains quiet as he surveys the area. When he steps into the personal bedroom of James T. Kirk, it is to the sight of a man huddled against a far wall.

Leonard McCoy.

The Vulcan kneels next to the glassy-eyed doctor and gently touches him. Leonard's silence is unnerving.

"Doctor, are you injured?"

McCoy shakes his head.

Then Spock does something he would not have thought possible many years ago. He takes one of Leonard's hands into both his own and squeezes lightly.

The man's eyes fall shut for a brief number of seconds before opening wide again. "Spock?"

"Yes."

"Spock, I—I have an awful headache."

He examines McCoy's skull for signs of trauma. There are no visible contusions.

"Do you know where you are?"

Leonard silently looks around, his throat working. Finally, he says, "On the... Enterprise."

"Affirmative. You are in the Captain's quarters."

Leonard asks, after a moment, "Where is he?"

He determines that there is no delicate way to phrase the news. "Captain Kirk has disappeared."

McCoy says nothing.

Because Spock does not desire to dwell on the implications of that silence, not yet, and because there is a hope in him now that he cherishes, he talks without prompting. "Doctor, I have conversed with a... colleague."

Still, Leonard does not speak.

Spock forges ahead. "There are a people we must seek, the Fabrini. They may hold medical knowledge we do not."

As if the words are pulled from him, the doctor asks slowly, "What kind of medical knowledge?"

"A cure," Spock says gravely, "for xenopolycythemia."

Leonard inhales deeply. Spock is uncertain of what he expected from the doctor, but this quietness does not rank within the top possibilities. "Leonard, you are certain you are unharmed?"

The man named Leonard McCoy ignores his inquiry in lieu of saying, rather faintly, "Okay."

He waits for the human, as he always does.

"Okay," Leonard speaks with a returning strength, "let's find the Fabrini."

Spock acknowledges an inherent guilt. "What of Jim?" he asks, already prepared for the answer.

McCoy gives him an indecipherable look. "There's nothing we can do for Jim right now."

Yes, he has accepted this—though not without consequences. So Spock of Vulcan, First Officer and Science Officer of the Enterprise, _friend_ of Leonard McCoy and James Tiberius Kirk chooses a path that is no less painful than its alternative.

He helps the doctor to his feet and promises, "We will return for Jim."

"We will," agrees the other.

_-Fini_

**

* * *

Oops. Didn't I mention that this is storyline was going to be a trilogy?  
**


End file.
